


Stag Night

by very_distinctive_flamingo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, M/M, Or Is he?, Sherlock is confused, and they're both gay, everyone knows john is gay except for john, john is also confused, john is getting married, john watson doesn't know he's gay, mary is a really nice person, this is like a really bad romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/very_distinctive_flamingo/pseuds/very_distinctive_flamingo
Summary: What really happened when John and Sherlock got drunk on stag night, and how they tried to deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Stag Night

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know where i'm going with this, but i hope you guys like it! i wrote it a while ago and just now thought of it again.

They stumbled into the flat, shedding coats and falling into chairs. John suggested they play a game, just to pass the time, and told Sherlock to pick a name and write it on a post-it. He picked one at random from the newspaper, and they asked questions for a while, giggling and not figuring anything out. And then John leaned forward, making a silly face. Sherlock laughed, feeling light and dizzy. Everything was just so hilarious! John laughed too, so hard that he tumbled forward. He caught himself with a hand on Sherlock’s knee, and suddenly everything went quiet, muffled and underwater. John cleared his throat. 

“S-sorry,” he muttered. But he didn’t move his hand. 

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock replied, wondering if he was actually speaking outside of his head. Wondering if any of this was actually happening outside of his head. But the soft pressure of John’s hand on his knee told him this was reality. 

“So? Am I a pretty lady?” John asked laughing, and Sherlock realized he was continuing the game. Then he realized that he didn’t actually have any idea who’s name was written on the post-it. Madonna? Who was that? 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said, giggling. “I just picked a random name from the papers.” 

John collapsed in laughter, using Sherlock’s knee to keep himself upright. His hand slid forward until he was clutching Sherlock’s thigh. Every nerve ending in his body turned electric. John, who was still caught up in fits of giggles, didn’t seem to notice. But Sherlock’s fuzzy mind was racing, knowing there was something important here he was missing. His mind was too chaotic to catalogue the symptoms, but he reached his conclusion nonetheless. (Later, he would go through the memory and make every part of it clearer, like enhancing an especially blurry video, and see each of the symptoms in himself). Right now, all he had was the conclusion he’d reached. By far, one of the strangest deductions he’d ever made. But he needed to share it. It was so astounding, and he always shared his deductions with John. Surely he would want to hear this one as well. Before the (quite small) part of his mind that was still sober could stop him, Sherlock blurted out that he’d deduced something. 

“Really? Wha-what is it?” John asked with a hiccup. Sherlock, still glowing from having realized this exciting fact, couldn’t wait to tell John. John, his blogger. His best friend. 

“I’m attracted to you, John!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t that just the strangest thing?” John blinked, and pushed himself upright. He was kneeling on the floor now. His hand hadn’t moved from Sherlock’s leg, and everything was short circuiting. If Sherlock was a machine, he’d be sparking and smoking right about now. John ran a hand through his hair, and Sherlock noticed something else. This time, he didn’t hesitate from remarking on it. 

“John, you’re sexy,” he said, awed. John was sexy, but it was still a strange thing to notice about your best friend. John snorted. 

“Me? I’m sexy?” He waved a hand between them in a fumbling attempt to point at Sherlock. “Sherlock, you are sex! You could have anyone you wanted. Allllll the girls and allll the boys are after you!”   
His words were slurred a little but the sentiment was clear. Then John was leaning forward, and their lips touched. Sherlock felt nuclear. John obviously knew what he was doing, and Sherlock followed his lead. His brain was fuzzy, but he was just sober enough to realize that this would have consequences. He pulled away, and John reached for him again. 

John’s hand was still sliding down Sherlock’s thigh, and he wasn’t sure he could muster the strength to stop it. He still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. But even through the haze of alcohol he knew he should push John away. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen when they were sober. So he put his hands on John’s shoulder, sweaty fingers slipping on the slick fabric of John’s cheap button-up shirt, and shoved. John stumbled backward and fell into his own chair. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief that didn’t last past that minute. Because when he looked up at John, the blonde was looking at him with such an expression of exaggerated hurt that Sherlock nearly laughed and nearly cried. 

“What’d ya do that for?” John slurred. Sherlock smiled sadly, wishing he still felt drunk.

“We can’t do this now, John. I can’t do that to you,” he said. John looked incredulous, eyebrows furrowing like he was thinking hard about what Sherlock had said. Then he shrugged, and Sherlock got the sense that he might have forgotten already why he’d been so incredulous. 

“‘Kay. You know what you’re talking about,” he told Sherlock. “I’m going to bed.” He tried to stand up and nearly fell. He picked himself up and then stumbled on the chair. Sherlock chuckled to himself and stood to help his friend to his room. He slung John’s arm around his waist (John was too short to reach his shoulders) and walked him to his room. John flopped on his bed, and Sherlock pulled the covers up over him. He paused before turning off the light, looking at John’s sleepy face. John was regarding him with a vaguely confused expression and sleep was tugging down his eyelids. 

“S-Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

But John said nothing. His eyes flickered shut. 

“Good night, John,” Sherlock murmured. Then he flicked off the light, and everything was plunged into darkness. 

John woke up feeling fuzzy and tired. His head hurt and the light seemed brighter than most mornings. His throat was dry and he had the sense that he was missing something important. That something had happened last night, his world had tilted and stayed that way, and now he couldn’t quite adjust to the new angle. But what had happened? What had- oh. A memory surfaced, grainy like a bad quality video. His hand on Sherlock’s knee, his lips on Sherlock’s. Sherlock pushing him away. 

“We can’t do this now. I can’t do that to you,” he’d said. And as far as John could tell, that was the end of that. They’d both gone blamelessly to sleep in their own separate beds. Sherlock probably wouldn’t bring it up. But as John was brushing his teeth, or shaving, or making coffee, he couldn’t quite stop trying to remember the feel of Sherlock’s lips against his own. When he walked into the living room for the first time that morning and saw Sherlock innocently reading the paper, he almost turned around and walked right back out. It was insane! He could barely even look at his friend now that he knew that they both thought of each other the same way. The one way they weren’t supposed to think about each other. 

He left in 221b in the late morning, dreading seeing Mary at work. But he only caught glimpses of her in the hallway, and he spent his lunch hour trying to remember last night in perfect detail and trying not to feel like a bounder. He’d kissed his best friend on stag night. It was like the plot of some twisted romantic comedy. 

He went home from work early that day because Sarah told him that he looked sick and said that Dr. Morstan could take care of the rest of his patients. 

“Of course, I’ll be saying Dr. Watson for both of you soon won’t I?” Sarah said lightly, giving him an awkward smile, and he just nodded and left her with that stupid smile drifting off her face. He didn’t slam the door on the way out, but it closed with a bang anyway. 

“How was stag night? Must have been pretty wild,” Mary remarked at dinner. John looked up, feeling his heart flutter. She couldn’t possibly know… right? 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to sound casual. She smiled. 

“Well you didn’t come home. I didn’t know Sherlock was that much of a partier.” John breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah, we got pretty drunk,” he said. “I think it’s mostly my fault. Sherlock had it all calculated, and I just kept sneaking shots into our glasses.” 

“He did not calculate it!” Mary exclaimed. John nodded, trying to keep a smile off his face. Mary’s laugh was so contagious. “Oh that’s so… so… Sherlock!” Mary was howling with laughter, and John laughed along.

“I know. He’s kind of crazy,” he agreed. Mary stopped laughing. 

“Oh John, I didn’t say that,” she said, patting his hand. “I love him, you know that right?” 

“Yeah, I know.” John tried to pull his hand away subtly, but Mary grabbed it lightly. 

“I love him because I see how much you love him, John,” she told him. “You two need each other. I’m so glad that you had a wonderful stag night. I’m glad he calculated everything. I’m worried that he thinks something will change between you two because you’re marrying me, and I just want you to know that I love how close you two are.” 

In his head, John cursed the soft candlelight and Mary’s hand in his. He cursed her for being so fucking understanding. How was he supposed to tell her that he and Sherlock were, apparently, a lot closer than even they had known? How was he supposed to tell her that tonight, when he went to bed, he’d probably dream about Sherlock? Mary was perfect. She would probably understand, when all he wanted was for her to yell at him and throw things until he came to his senses. He couldn’t tell her, but he couldn’t keep it a secret. What was he supposed to do?

**Author's Note:**

> ya'll probably know by now that there is nothing i love more than feedback on my writing, so leave some comments! i hope you liked this. stay tuned for chapter two :)


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